Lavander
by The-Fickle-Lady
Summary: Innocent blood must always mingle with the blood of the guilty when one pursues ambition goals. How much or how little is left entirely up to the pursuer. Sansa must weigh two choices: one heavy with danger, one heavy with an innocent girl's blood.


ASOIAF

Lavender

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Summary: Innocent blood must always mingle with the blood of the guilty when one pursues ambition goals. How much or how little is left entirely up to the pursuer. Sansa must weigh two choices: one heavy with danger, one heavy with an innocent girl's blood.

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><p><em>I love this boy<em>, Sansa thought as Robin begged her for another story before bed, one that she would gladly give after a token protest that the hour was late, for she loved stories just as much as him at heart. The realization of this fact struck her like the flat of one of the King's Guard's swords. She hadn't thought she could love Robin, for his faults were numerous and he could be quite tiresome at times; Sansa hadn't thought she could love anyone really, after everything.

But she loved Robin she realized, and all for the simple fact, he was the one person in the world she knew for certain loved her for herself, who wanted her not for her lands, titles, or beauty, but for her stories, comforting arms, and her kindnesses. Robin loved her as his sister, or perhaps his mother, she knew, and he didn't even know they were truly blood.

"Please, another story, Alayne! Please, I beg of you, just one more!" The boy entreated her again. His wide eyes were pleading. Sansa could not resist him, not that she even would have tried. "All right, but only one more, Sweetrobin." Robin grinned happily as he wrapped his arms around her middle once more and settled in for another tale. "I promise, Alayne. I promise."

The next morning, Sansa volunteered to administer Robin's dosage of Sweetsleep herself, as the maester was surely busy with the servants who had come down with frostbite and other tasks. The maester had been thankful for Alayne's assistance, and after giving the young lady brief instructions, he took his leave. Sansa cut the dosage in half. And she did the same the next day, and the next. She took the dosage she did not administer to Robin and poured it into a slender vase that she took pains to tuck in the shadows of Sweetrobin's chambers, so it would go unseen.

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><p>Ser Lyn Corbray's price was gold and boys, Littlefinger had told her once. Sansa watched him now from where she sat with Robin practically in her lap on a balcony overlooking the training yard. Robin did not like Corbray. Neither did Sansa. Yet while Sweetrobin brattled on about the Winged Knight being able to best all those knights at work below them, Sansa's eyes remained trained on one in particular. Lyn Corbray was Littlefinger's eyes and ears among the Lords Declarant. Already, he had helped Littlefinger gain leverage over those who would seek to dispose him as Robin's regent.<p>

Sansa knew it would, perhaps, be in her favor if Littlefinger remained in power, but it would not in Robin's, or in Harry the Heir's. Sansa had come to doubt it would even be in hers. Littlefinger sought only his own benefit. For the love of her mother alone, would he help her? Sansa did not think so. She imagined now, with the state of things in Westeros, she would be better off to be rid of Baelish altogether. Perhaps the whole world would be.

No. There was no 'perhaps' about it. She was doing the world a service, she decided.

With that diabolical man gone, Robin would have a better chance at survival, that was for sure. Harry the Heir would not be in peril of falling victim to Littlefinger's manipulations the way she and Robin had. And Sansa…she would find a way to survive. She had endeared herself to many in the Vale, had become loved and trusted where Littlefinger was loathed and suspected. Mayhaps she did need Littlefinger to regain Winterfell, but she did not need him to stay alive any longer.

_What use is Winterfell to me anyway_, Sansa thought forlornly. What did that holdfast and those walls or the sept and godswoods mean without her family? The only family she had in the world was in her lap, chattering on about legendary knights and kings. Why should she risk herself by further allying with a scoundrel for the sake of cold, empty buildings at the cost of the only person who loved her in this world?

"Robin, I fear I am about to take ill." She whispered to the little lord in her lap. Robin gasped, as horrified as a boy his age could be. Sansa smiled amusedly. "Fear not, my Sweetrobin, I must simply take to bed a few hours earlier this evening. Sadly, that means no stories or songs." Robin made a sound of protest. "But I love your stories, Alayne! Can I not go to bed early with you?" Sansa shook her head resolutely at the boy. "You are a growing boy, Robert. You must learn to go to bed without songs and stories." Robin pouted. "But—" Sansa pressed a finger to his lips. "There will be no begging. Agreed?" Robin remained stubbornly silent. Sansa gave him a reprimanding look. "_Agreed_, Robert?"

"Agreed." The boy muttered grumpily.

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><p>Sansa adjourned to her bedchamber early that night. She arranged some pillows under the blankets and sheets of her bed, hoping to imitate her own shape in case her maids came to check on her or Robin broke his promise of leaving her be for the evening. Mya and Myranda, she trusted, would leave an ill girl be without much trouble, and Littlefinger had already called on her for that day for their usual lessons in intrigue. He would have no further need of her.<p>

Sansa spent most of the first hour after closing her chambers doors pacing by the windows. She had formulated the plan earlier in the day, and it had seemed flawless in her mind, but now the physical execution was daunting her so severely she considered discarding the plan altogether. She had seen Bran climb the walls of Winterfell many, many times. And Arya on a few occasions. It did not seem difficult, but as she had learned, the most seemingly easy tasks were often to most arduous.

Ser Corbray's chambers were on the floor below hers. She had counted the windows outside hours earlier. In order to make it to his windows, she would have to somehow make her way four windows over and down to the lower storey. Sansa supposed the easiest means of that task was to climb on the stone ledge and then shimmy down a stone column. However, the stone ledge was rather narrow and icy even. The column was wide and Sansa had never shimmied down anything in her life. She looked down at her dress and came to a decision.

Sansa did not own any breeches or tunics of her own, but it was relatively easy work to fashion a pair out of the skirt of a spring time dress in the back of her wardrobe. She would most certainly not be making any fashion statements in it, but it would allow Sansa better motion of her legs and make her less likely to fall to her death from the ledge or the column.

Still, after donning her new breeches, Sansa found herself even more uncomfortable with her plan. She'd never worn breeches before, or climbed out a window or shimmied down a stone column. She'd never even thought to sneak into a man's chambers at night. She wished it would be as easy as taking the stairs and knocking on his door, but if someone saw her, one of Littlefinger's spies, or even just a run-of-the-mill maid…Sansa took a deep breath, bracing herself for many things as well as the cold night air, as she opened up a window. Using a chair, she climbed out onto the snow ledge and began to crawl to the left.

The snow and ice underneath the snow stung her hands through her gloves, and her knees quickly began to ache. Her teeth chattered more and more with each careful inch she made towards the column. Sansa had grown to resent her plan within seconds. Her toes were numb by the time she made it to the column, and she was shaking from more than the cold as she timidly climbed to her feet and carefully wrapped one leg around the column.

The stone was rough, thank the gods, so she did not immediately slip to her doom. However, it was still a precarious climb to the ledge below, few feet as the climb was. To Sansa, at that moment, it would have been just as terrible a fate to slip off the top of the Wall as it would have been to lose her grip on the column and fall two storeys to the ground below. When she finally reached her goal, the ledge below the one she had previous climbed across, Sansa let out a breath she had not realized she was holding. The cold air burned her lungs.

The climb across the lower ledge to Corbray's window seemed like nothing after the first two legs of her short journey. Besides the numbness in her toes and fingers, and the soreness building in her knees, Sansa was already counting this excursion a victory.

That sense of victory, of course, fled like a frightened mouse in the wake of a hungry lion when she finally reached Corbray's window and was faced with the fact she would have to knock and have him let her inside. The windows were thickly frosted all over the holdfast, so she knew that Corbray would not be able to see her clearly though the glass. As she only saw his burly shape and colors from her position outside the window, Corbray would only be able to make out the same of her. He was in his chamber, she saw clearly enough. Sharpening his beloved sword, it looked like. He didn't seem to have noticed the dark figure outside his window.

Taking a deep breath, Sansa knocked on the icy glass. Corbray looked up and all around his chambers, then at the window. He had a start and bolted up from his chair. He approached the window with his sword raised cautiously and ripped the window open. Sansa quickly leapt inside, dropping into a roll and ending up sprawled out on the floor in her eagerness to escape the cold, dark outdoors. Corbray gaped at her, too stunned to even raise his sword threateningly at his intruder. Sansa held up her hands in surrender as she stood from the floor.

"I mean no harm." She said.

"Lady Alayne." Corbray greeted her, recognizing her now. "Your father send you?"

"No, I came of my own fruition, and with an offer, Ser."

Corbray appraised her as he sat himself back down. "Of what sort?"

"The sort that a man like you has most likely been long awaiting. A better one than my father's." Sansa answered. Corbray scoffed. "Better than your father's? Girl, I do not believe you know just how good the offers your father makes are." He rebuked her.

Sansa kept a calm demeanor, as she often did. She met Corbray's eyes and ask him one thing: "What are gold and boys compared to your brother's lands and titles?" Corbray blinked, surprised evidently by her inquiry. Then he leaned forward, intrigued now.

"Nothing, I suppose. But how would _you _give me those things? You're just a bastard girl."

"Bastards are known for dastardly behavior. Killing trueborn siblings most commonly, but we also have a ghastly habit of cutting down those who sowed the seeds that brought us into the world. I intend to be rid of Petyr Baelish before he has a chance to reap what he has sown and profit off it.

"In order to do that, I must have someone acting as my eyes and ears. But not just on him. On the Lords Declarant as well. I must know their every move just as much as I must know my father's every move. When you only know one side of the board, it's rather hard to play the game, you see."

"Well, Ser Corbray, does that sound like something you can do?" She asked the repulsive knight. Corbray smirked at her. "Yes, but you still have not told me why I should do such things for you." He countered. "Simple." Sansa responded. "Once my father is disposed of, I will inherit all his resources as my own. As you know, they are quite extensive, and it would all be a matter of paying a sum to an assassin to have your brother and any of your rivals for the inheritance done away with in a tragic accident or have them fall terribly ill."

"Littlefinger said it could not be done. That it would be too obvious and we'd both lose our heads. That the gold and boys were the best I could do." Corbray spat angrily.

"My father is a masterful liar, Ser. You should know that."

And as Sansa watched the bitterness swell in Corbray's eyes and become a sea of loathing for his employer, she knew her lies had worked their wonders.

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><p>Over the next few weeks, the climbs across the ledges and down the column became less daunting as Sansa was forced to make the journey to Corbray's room more and more often for reports on Littlefinger and the Lords Declarant. In a matter of a moon's turn, it seemed Sansa's plan had proven a good move on her part.<p>

"There's talk of taking the matter to court. Some of the lords, my brother included, feel the queen would be sympathetic to the cause."

"Littlefinger has gotten word from his spies in King's Landing that the small council has become consumed by some group of mercenaries raising hell in the Storm Lands, with claims Aegon, Rhaegar's son, is leading them."

"Spies from the North report escalation in the fighting between the Bolton's and the Stannis Baratheon. I don't know which side has nastier plans for the other: Bolton, who plans to flay Stannis alive and turn him into a rug, or Stannis, whose witch is eager for fresh sacrifices for her pyres."

"Euron Greyjoy is utterly unpredictable! A madman really, I say. Your father doesn't seem to know what to make of him, and if he does, he's keeping it to himself. I don't trust that."

"The Lords Declarant are becoming desperate. There was, an albeit not serious, suggestion of a coup."

The reports had quickly become the primary focus of Sansa's thoughts on a day to day basis. She almost looked forward to them like a Sweetrobin did his desert following dinner. Corbray's being prevented that. She would never grow to tolerate the man as more than her informant, and knowing how he spent his nights when he was not giving her reports, she had vowed never to allow him to touch her. She looked forward to the day she crushed his hopes of usurping his brother almost as much as she looked forward to the day she was rid of Littlefinger.

"I must take my leave now." Sansa said to Corbray after he finished his latest report on a Targaryen princess across the Narrow Sea whose aims for Westeros were becoming worrisome. She made for the window. "Why not take the damn door? No one roams the halls at night. It's too cold for such things." Corbray had remarked many times that he found her usual way of entry strange and impractical. Sansa often ignored him. "That is a matter of opinion. All it takes is one loose-lipped child wandering the halls in search of their parent's chamber or a maid running a late night errand, and I am caught. Who knows what my father would do to me if he finds out." Sansa replied.

Sansa climbed out the window then and began her crawl towards the column. She dreaded the climb up. Shimming up was far worse than shimming down. With a frightful yelp as her uncovered hand made contact with the frigid ice and snow of the ledge, Sansa discovered she had forgotten her gloves inside Corbray's chamber. She quickly, but of course carefully, turned herself around and crawl back and collect her things.

As Corbray had made a habit of leaving his window unlocked for her, Sansa simply slipped right back into the chamber. The moment her feet touched the floor, there was a crash. Sansa's eyes flew to the chamber doors on the other side of the room.

A maid had entered the room just as she had, with a pitcher of ale for Corbray by the looks of the shattered remains at her feet. "Lady Alayne," The maid gasped, looking between Sansa and Corbray, who was sat on the edge of his bed. "I apologize for my intrusion, m'lady. I will not tell your father, I swear." And with that, the girl hurriedly fled the room, the chamber doors shutting behind her. Sansa and Corbray were left in a stunned silence for the length of a minute.

"Stop her!" Sansa shouted, but it was she who was the first the race after the fleeing maid. Launching herself into the corridor, Sansa followed the sounds of retreating footsteps towards the staircase. Within a minute, Sansa was on the maid's heels. "Stop, please. Stop." Sansa pleaded with the maid as loudly as she dared in the night. The maid either didn't hear her or ignored her. Sansa grew frustrated and grabbed the maid's arm, forcing her to turn and face her. "I said _stop._" Sansa whispered harshly into the maid's face.

The maid was young, Sansa's age, a year younger than Alayne, and she was pretty, even with her eyes wide with fear. Sansa pitied the maid, but at the same time envied her. The worst this girl feared at the moment was dismissal from her occupation. Sansa had far greater fears. "I apologize, m'lady." The maid repeated timidly. Sansa loosened her grip on the maid's arm but did not release her just yet. The maid looked down at her feet.

"I swear by the Mother and the Father, I will not speak of what I saw to a single soul, not even your father, Lady Alayne." The maid whispered. Behind her, Sansa heard Corbray finally catch up, coming to stop steps behind her. The maid looked over Sansa's shoulder at him. "I will not tell anyone, m'lord. You can trust me." The maid let out a shy laugh. "It wouldn't be the first time a maid stumbled upon something she should not have." She remarked.

Sansa might have found her words amusing if not for the war that raged within her at that moment. She looked at the maid before her and saw not an innocent girl, but a threat to everything she had accomplished and endeavored to accomplish in the near future. Conversely, a voice within her argued persistently that the girl was an innocent, much like she had once been. Sansa did not know what to do; all she knew was the deciding moment was now.

Glancing over her own shoulder, Sansa saw Corbray gripping the hilt of his sword. It sickened her to know she and this man were having the same thoughts and feelings. But knowing she was not alone lent Sansa enough solace to be able to look the maid in the eye as she grabbed her other forearm as gently and as outwardly innocent as possible. The maid looked up at her with those wide, fearful eye of hers.

"M'lady?"

"What is your name?" Sansa asked. The maid at last relaxed.

"Lavara, m'lady." She hesitated visibly. "I…I am truly sorry, m'lady. Please do not dismiss me."

Sansa steeled herself as she tightened her grip on Lavara's arms. Her stomach clenched. In her grip, Lavara stiffened like a doe who had felt the huntsman's gaze. "M'lady?"

"No, Lavara," Sansa spoke softly, meeting the maid's eyes. She hoped Lavara saw that she truly did not want to do this. That she was sorry. That she wished it did not have to be this way. "It is I who am truly sorry." She gave the girl a rough shove forward.

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><p><strong>Disclaimer: I hope you enjoyed this story. I've toyed with it for awhile, so…<strong>

**I named this "Lavander" because in flower language Lavender represents distrust. Lavara is derived from the supposed root word for Lavender, "Lavare" which means "to wash". **

**Please review! I really, really would appreciate feedback on this one!**


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